


no spoilers.

by SayYouDontKnow



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, F/F, Post Break Up, Time Travel AU, but like fucked up unexpected time travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SayYouDontKnow/pseuds/SayYouDontKnow
Summary: Katya is a photographer. Trixie was her muse. Workplace relationships never work out.After falling asleep during a flight for a work trip, Katya stumbles into the terminal to find her ex-girlfriend waiting diligently for her to arrive. Only one problem: she’s ten years younger than when Katya saw her last, and she thinks this is their first time really meeting in person.A brief telling of bad timing.





	no spoilers.

When we were in love, everything worked.

Katya hugged her backpack close to her chest, yawning into its strap as she shuffled into the hall of the plane. She hadn’t slept in days, it felt - give or take a few quick naps between phone calls and time spent writing. But today was her big break, the best time to sleep: a nine-ish hour return flight from Lisbon to her studio in the outskirts of Washington, DC, where she would continue working upon arrival (around two in the morning) until her next due date.

It was hard having to fly across the world to find new models.

She shook her head, rubbing at her eyes as she adjusted to the cramped nature of her seat. No, model-hunting was worth it. Maybe her work was getting boring as it was and inspiration is just as fleeting as everyone told her it tended to be. Plus, getting herself out there was a good thing. Photos of the same person tend to grow stale even between the most intense of lovers. Lighting, posing, intention, emotion - are there really never ending combinations?

Or had she taken all the pictures there were to take?

Katya rummaged through her bag, silencing her phone and pulling out earplugs. Take-off was always rough, sending spikes of adrenaline right to her stomach. She clung to her bag, clasping her own hands as the floor shook beneath her. It didn’t help that this was only her second time flying alone in...too many years to count.

_Everything will be all right. Out of all the flights in the world taking off today, we’re not special enough for our flight to be the one that crashes._

She had worked on write-ups, pitches, and rent applications for smaller studios the duration of her flight to Portugal. This return flight was her reward. She earned this. With no regard for whoever sat next to her, either - this was time shared between Katya, the window, and the space between her eyelids.

_And if we really are that special...isn’t it too coincidental that you’d be this worried?_

Katya ripped her gaze from the view outside as the plane’s trajectory began to settle, almost forcing her eyes to shut.

_You can sleep. I’ll wake you before we land._

“You’d never lie to me, right?”

Katya lifted her head from behind the camera, a quizzical look crossing her face. “What?”

The blonde hadn’t even moved, her neck still arched in that perfect way to create a shadowless sculpture-like effect in the low light of dusk.

“...You just...wouldn’t lie to me, I hope.”

“Yeah, yeah, course not, hun.”

Her model’s lips parted for a moment and her eyes glazed over in thought for a split second. Katya clamored to slam her finger onto the top button of the camera, setting off a stream of clicks as the blonde closed her eyes slowly.

“How did you know such a boring answer would get a reaction out of me?” the model grumbled, her hand curling against her collarbone as she pulled thin, whispy fabric tighter to her torso.

“Because they’re less expected than my usual ones, eh?” Katya peeped out from behind the gigantic lenses and offered a cheeky smile.

“...So you would lie to me then?” she questioned, turning to face the camera.

“Only about stupid stuff.”

“Then come here. And don’t fucking set any timers.”

Katya pouted. “I like pictures of us, though...”

“Taking this picture wouldn’t be a stupid lie,” the blonde said quietly. Almost as if she meant to whisper it. Like she didn’t want Katya to hear.

The older woman huffed, dramatically throwing a leg out from behind her setup to stand and meander over to the model. “Fiiiine, fine fine fine. Anything for my muse, sure.”

The blonde lifted a hand, her fingernails coated with chipping nude polish, and let her fingers fall on Katya’s jawline. “Just your muse?” she pondered aloud. And then she flinched - again, as if a secret was spoken mistakenly.

“Oh, yeah.” She laced a hand around the blonde’s back, leaning in to bridge the gap between them. The model melted against her grasp, their free hands clasping clumsily as Katya parted. “My only mu- _fuck_ , ow!”

Katya jumped back, stumbling off the perch of pillows that the model was straddling and falling to the floor. Blinking, she sat upright, running a finger over her lip and sticking it in her mouth.

Metallic. The slight taste of blood.

“You _bit_ me!” She jumped up to her feet, staring down at the blonde. “You cheeky bitch!”

“Mmmm,” the woman hummed, shifting to sit on her knees and pulling Katya down to her level with a hand on her shoulder. It was forceful, the way that she snatched Katya forward and kissed her, but somehow elegant. Dragging her downward. It was hard not to watch thick, golden curls spiral out from her frame as she fell back onto the couch. Like beams of sunlight, warm and inviting, with the knowing expression on her face as Katya hovered over her, one hand balancing her weight and the other pressed into the blonde’s cheek.

They stared at each other for a moment, Katya drinking in every moment and wishing she had photographic memory. This exact image, the indescribable look across the beautiful woman’s face, the gauzy fabric surrounding her, the heat.

And a tiny speck of blood dripped from Katya’s lip to the model’s cupid’s bow.

She smiled. “Is it ruined now? The picture you wanted?” Her voice trailed from her mouth like honey drool, uncomfortably saccharine.

What a tease.

Katya kissed her again, in a way that blurry and unmemorable. Scrambling hands and seemingly nervous laughter. Like every time they did this, it was their first. And like every time they parted, it was sure to be their last.

The woman sat, head turned from the camera as Katya flicked through sample photos in the dark of the studio. She squinted at the light, zooming in on a few photos before sighing and moving to the next set. The model shifted to sit beside Katya. Her chin resting on her shoulder, a hand slipping across her torso, breath hot into the crook of her neck as she murmured the words:

”You only kiss me when you don’t want to answer the question, don’t you?”

_I just want to hear your voice again, when it was doused in cinnamon sugar._

Katya’s eyes flew open, her mouth dry as she scrambled to recollect herself. A flight attendant stood beside her row of seats. The large man seated beside her was deeply invested in a magazine, it seemed. All acting so casually as the world seemed to spin around them.

Heaving into her open palm. A noticable emptiness on her shoulder.Ah. She clamped her eyes shut before they could let on any signs of what was happening.

This was Katya’s first opportunity to sleep for a long while. Flip the coin, and it was her first chance to think things through.

Flying to and fro with models always made things easier.

Now the process began anew again. One stumbled across long-time muses like everyone hoped to find lovers: sporadically, by chance, and perhaps sought out by the other party. Skype chats and endless conversations with long-legged husks, never finding substance or anything beyond a relationship with the camera. There had to be something with the person behind the camera.

_“Why do you look so different in your portfolio?”_

_“I don’t look at other cameras like I look at yours.”_

“People don’t look at cameras the way they look at other people,” she murmured quietly into her hand, flipping through photos tucked away in her wallet. Beautiful polaroids. Work-friendly and great portfolio boosters for the both of them. They were a match made in heaven, the industry liked to think.

Tucked amidst the aged, folded photographs were a number of ones from her most recent shoot: a friend from college turned pinup/burlesque model. One who always had a tendency to look sexy in a terrifying way, glaring always, lip curling into a snarl. She was beautiful and she knew it. Her knowledge of what she possessed seemed to be her greatest asset.

Katya flipped between the two models. Dark, grungy, so passive in nature. Then warm tones, a haziness to the edges, curves and quiet moments. Black, slinky leather. Blonde hair, curled to ringlets, hanging over a clavicle. Deep, wine lips. Wine stained lips. She could feel her head pulse as her gaze jumped between them.

Trixie would kill me if she knew someone else was mixed into her photosets.

Without even thinking, she began to tuck the photos of the burlesque model into the breast pocket of her button-down. And even when Katya realized what she was doing, she continued.

This collection was her first muse’s swan song, after all. The original intent of keeping the photos close was a reminder of why things needed to change.

One photo in particular, in fact.

Katya could remember the scene exactly. It was feigned innocence: sitting and scrolling through her photos in an attempt to catch the blonde off guard, in her natural state. She was staring at Katya with a look on her face that the older woman knew needed preserving and further examination. So she took the picture. It felt simple, routine for the two of them.

Katya realized a few days later - that look on her face, why it was so intriguing.

It wasn’t longing. It wasn’t hatred, it wasn’t anything morose or melancholy. Her eyes sliced straight through the camera, through Katya’s body. Like she was staring at the couch cushion, deeming it the most interesting thing in the room.

It was pure and unadulterated indifference.

The crown jewel of her final publication. The write-up was already complete, and shorter than Katya had expected:

_The fact that I cannot pinpoint when you stopped loving me says more about me than it does you_.

It would be Katya’s first public admission to their relationship, though widely suspected in their niche community. The one problem was that she lacked her dear model’s permission to disclose such information - something she was almost too fearful to ask for.

There were other photos. Photos of her empty studio, of the ruffled bedsheets hanging off the edge of her mattress hapazardly. A photo of her laying on her back on her side of the mattress, an indent still visible in the pillow where her model once lay. It was her first self portrait and the second photo she intended to publish of herself - the first being one of her back and hair with most of the model’s face tucked into the crook of her neck, blue eyes slightly visible and staring into the camera. The photo that was once the background of her model’s phone. Like a couple would take pictures, the blonde had said.

Were planes ever this cold?

She’d move on. She’d move on, truly. Katya found comfort in the fact that she felt nothing when she looked at the profile shots, her heart only aching at the thought of never running her hands over the blonde’s marble-cut curves again. That was it. Yeah. Nothing.

Her head turned to the window, a harrowing view of the gleaming capital peaking through the dark clouds. They’d be landing soon, and she’d catch a ride into Georgetown with the last of her pocket change from this trip.

How...lethargic it seemed, to plan like this. The realization that her life would be one of planning was a hard one. The thought that each day no longer led seamlessly into the next, the restless feeling in her studio the night before the flight. She cradled her carry on as the lights flashed above her seat, unable to unbuckle her seatbelt. Life was a stunted process, events shackled together to give Katya something to look forward to. Cigarette ash floating over her balcony, a furrowed brow, and an empty space in the corner of her deck.

Nausea. This flight was worse than any other she’d been on. Her head hurt, burning and burning still. Sweat dripped down Katya’s forehead as she stood, ducking her head as she passed by families stacking their luggage to run to the plane’s bathroom. She puked. Loudly, dry heaving into her forearm as she staggered away from the trash can. There was nothing left in her body to let go of. Nothing romantic about it or worth divulging the details of, either. Flights like these always made her feel sick.

She’d always felt like this.

A flight attendant stood at the door when Katya exited, who offered an empty smile as she ushered her off the plane. 

It was almost funny how the whole world just seemed to...deal with Katya now. Maybe she had always been like this. The blonde woman stapled onto the walls of her heart had just put up with it. God, thinking shit through sucked.

Was this her first real breakup?

Katya stepped off the roller ladder, rolling her shoulders as she walked into the back end of the airport. The night was steaming, humidity swallowing her whole for a moment as she stopped to recollect herself before ordering an Uber to take her back to the studio. Her business phone was tucked into the back pocket of her bag, as she only kept her personal phone on her person. No need to pretend like she was expecting work calls - or personal calls for that matter, it just felt more human to always carry one. And then, as she reached for it - the solid brick buzzed in her pocket.

She grimaced. The only person with her number that would call was her mother - who knew damn well now was not the time. Probably checking to see if her flight had landed. It was a sweet notion. That had to be it.

Wiping at her mouth, Katya sighed and rummaged through her pockets.

Then she dropped her phone.

_Pixie Stix_ , in those thick white letters. Her nickname from before they lived together, and the number she had before using money from their first publication to buy a smart phone. Bubbling chimes as the ring tone. Her background, a shitty photo of the sunset on the day before Inauguration Day three years ago.

Even she isn’t that mean. To call from an old number, purposefully bringing back such memories.

Katya snatched up her phone, staring nervously at the name. What did she have to say? Why would she be calling so early in the morning? Why her old number? Who was she with? Where _was_ she? Every part of her body yelled to leave the phone as it was, to let it ring forever until the model came banging on her door, begging for another booking.

But that wasn’t going to happen. And the pointer finger that tapped and slid the ‘accept call’ button knew that wasn’t going to happen.

She inhaled, slow and through gritted teeth. “Trix?”

“Katya!” The voice sounded rushed, out of breath almost. “Katya, thank _God_. I just got here, shit...Everything’s so fucking loud-“

“Look, can this wait for another time? I’m...I just got off a flight.”

“I know you did, I’m trying to make sure I’m in the right place! God. Can’t even let me get a word in. I’m excited too, y’know.”

Katya gawked at her phone for a moment, brows furrowing. “What?”

“This is my first time in D.C.,” the voice chatted nonchalantly. “It’s so modern here - I feel a little out of touch.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah. Just look weird with a flip phone. Can’t help being poor, I guess.” The woman on the other end exhaled quietly, warmth blossoming in her voice. “Feels better talkin’ to you, though.”

This had to be drunk idiocy. “Are you, uhm...at a bar? Do I need to pick you up?” 

“A bar? What kinda bad girl do you take me for - I need you to come fuckin’ meet me at this terminal. I’m not gonna wait my whole life for you, y’know.”

“Y...” This was really cruel. Even Katya didn’t think she deserved this, and she half expected her former model to burn the studio down upon her termination. “Just...stay where you are. I’m not doing this shit again, though.”

Termination. Everything in their relationship was business, wasn’t it?

“I don’t expect you to think you will,” the voice countered. “I haven’t convinced you to book me again.”

“Trix...” Katya covered her face with a hand.

“C’mon. If you have your phone out, you should be running to me instead. Don’t make me take the train home alone.”

“...I....I’m not fucking...equipped to _deal_ with this-“

“It’s two thirty in the morning where I am too!” the voice snapped. “I’m not equipped to handle much more waiting! Hurry up, or you’ll regret it!”

With a quiet click, the other person hung up.

Katya slumped against the terminal wall, groaning as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. Slapping her cheeks once, twice, and again until passersby shot weird glances in her direction.

The woman she knew was a sweet drunk. A playful, almost submissive drunk. That voice on the phone was so foreign, but Katya had surely heard it before.

Who was she kidding - nobody would be at the end of the terminal. Nobody would be waiting for her. This was a new medium, a new way to look at the world. Polaroid versus her professional camera versus the camera app on her phone. All different, all equally tools, but some were easier to use. This medium fell heavy on her hands...and shoulders, and back, and ribs, and head, and heart.

And her heart ached for the easy mediums, the easy moments. About a decade ago, when a girl named Trixie messaged Katya. 

It was a whirlwind. The beautiful portfolio, almost a child-like agreement over Skype before they had ever met - shoot together and split whatever money the sets make. Local niche magazines picked them up quickly, and the commute just didn’t make sense anymore. As crunchy as Katya felt about living with someone almost five years younger than her, it seemed that was a major appeal to the starry-eyed blonde.

And a decade later, Katya stumbled through the terminal, rubbing her arms and glancing from corner to corner. The woman she knew was probably at a bar somewhere, leaning on the shoulder of a short-haired biker girl and whispering in her ear. Two in the morning, of course nobody would be waiting for her. Just angry soon-to-be passengers, sad they were up so early (or so late) and didn’t have enough money for a reasonably timed flight. She’d been there. She probably was there, if not too delusional to admit something like that to herself. And yet Katya looked, scanning the area as she exited the hallway and stopped dead in her tracks.

That same starry-eyed blonde.

The girl stood in low light, yawning into her hand as her gaze swept the left side of the terminal. A pointed nose, thick eyeliner, blushed cheeks. Like a seventies model, a Warhol muse, fiddling with her hands as she stood next to her bag. The vintage theme continued in her outfit: a yellow, loose-fitted shirt that hung off her bust and tucked into high waisted jeans, tight to her hips that flared at the knee. Probably platforms. She looked amazonian.

It was her.

And she lifted her head so casually, a smile stretched across her face.

“Tattoos?” Sugary sweet and meandering, her words floating through Katya’s brain. “You didn’t tell me about _these_.”

“Trix...ie...?”

“Maybe I should’ve paid more attention.”

“...What’re you doing here?” Katya whispered, her hands shaking as she reached out to grab the younger woman’s arms.

“I...you’re, uh...It’s for work, right?” The blonde winked. “I know that’s what we said, but you look better in person.”

“What’s your name?”

“Trixie.”

Katya shut her eyes. “Where are you from?”

“Wha...this is, uh...kinda weird...”

“Just _please_ answer the fucking question,” she breathed.

“I’m...from the country. But I live in Georgetown now,” Trixie responded quietly. “Are you checkin’ to make sure I’m the right Trixie? I don’t know many others.”

“Who am I?”

“You’re Katya Zamowhateverthefuck!” She beamed.

“....And...how old are you?”

“I’m, uh.” Trixie pulled an arm away from Katya’s grasp. “You know.”

“How. Old. _Are_. You.”

“I’m.” She looked over Katya for a moment. “I’m eighteen...?”

Katya stared down at her.

“And you...you don’t...look twenty-three...” the blonde murmured, running her fingers over the older woman’s inked arms.

Her mouth hung open slightly.

It seemed like bullshit. It felt like bullshit and it smelled like bullshit.

But Trixie hadn’t looked at her with that soft look in _so_ long, and it made Katya...hungry. How did people deal with situations like this?

“Even if...I don’t look like a model you’d want, I still bought train tickets, so we’re kinda on the clock here,” she mumbled nervously, trying to hold eye contact as she held out the two slips of paper. “I expected a reaction, but...hah...this is weird even for you.”

Katya snatched them from her hands, the softness between them shattering.

2009\. Two thousand, nine. Two thousand and nine.

Ten years ago.

Her eyes darted from Trixie’s face to the tickets. Soft blue eyes, then crisp, new tickets.

The Trixie she fell in love with. Lifting a hand, she reached up to push a lock of hair behind the blonde’s ear, a finger running over the bare skin.

“Wh...what’re you doing...?” Trixie stammered, her cheeks darkening.

“Every time I got a tattoo, you’d go and get pierced in the chair beside mine...because you felt bad for me, but mostly because you didn’t want to sit alone for that many hours,” Katya breathed.

“I’ve never been to a tattoo parlor in my life?” came the concerned reply.

The older woman jumped back when she realized Trixie was staring back at her.

“We, uh..uhm....” Katya ran her hand over her face, a jolt of pain running up her temple. “ _Fuck_ , my head...this is...I need you to come with me. We, uh. We can’t go back to your place like we said we would,” she forced out, deciding to roll with the lie.

_You can laugh at me if this is all a prank. Just keep looking at me like that for as long as you can muster_.

“Why...?”

“I’m gonna call a car rental.” Fuck the Uber. Fuck it. “We kind of need to talk. Can I...step away for a second?”

“Sure, but you’re worrying me...even if you’re definitely Katya.” Every word was so earnest, so honest.

Katya finally ripped her gaze away, waving gently to the girl as she pulled out her phone and wandered a couple yards away. Scrolling through her contacts was tiresome, but she didn’t have the heart to type out her name. The contact name was just Trixie. Nothing cute. Nothing friendly. Just Trixie, and it had been that way since she got a new number. For years.

“If you don’t pick up, I swear on my _life_ I’ll start smoking again,” she growled, pacing past the bathrooms.

The phone rang. And rang, and rang, and rang. Maybe the blonde was sitting in her hotel room, thinking the same thoughts she had when her own phone started buzzing. To make her hurt.

_The number you have dialed..._

Katya groaned, running a hand over her chin and neck before trying again.

Quickly this time. _The number you have dialed is no longer in service..._

_“Fuck!”_

“Katya?”

She turned to see the blonde staring at her, wide-eyed.

“I...“

“What’s...what’s happening? What’s going on?”

Katya slumped against the wall. This feeling wasn’t like a dream, it wasn’t like when she was drunk and fearless, it wasn’t when she played around with uppers and felt like she was floating. It was terrible. “Don’t you feel like something’s wrong?” she replied dryly. “You’ve always been the smart one out of the two of us...”

Trixie extended a hand, hesitating slightly. “You just look a little different is all. And...you’re not the smooth-talking Katya I knew, but that’s okay.”

The older woman sighed.

Even if this was a prank, the blonde seemed so persistent.

It would be better to just play along.

“I’m a lot different from your Katya,” she said quietly, holding back up the tickets before dropping. “This train is no longer services Georgetown. It hasn’t for six years.” They fluttered so easily to the ground.

“But...I-I just bought them...”

“I got this sleeve done over the span of two years,” Katya continued, “and that ended when I was twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-seven?” She tilted her head. “You’re...you lied about your age?”

_God, she’s lucky she’s beautiful_. Katya groaned, unhitching her backpack from her back and sifting through the laptop pocket. It was packed with magazines and pamphlets, loose photographs and stapled collections. She plucked one magazine in particular: a local Pride edition of their city’s monthly. It was Trixie standing beside a statue if Aphrodite, a leg hitched over her torso and hand cradling the statue’s jawline, hair rife with extensions that flowed all the way to the floor with sweet magnolias clipped into the occasional curl. Her name was credited on the front, and a close up shot of her on stage was included in a feature on the city nightlife. Katya knew her own name was tucked away in the final credits page. Just where she wanted it to be.

“This is my Trixie,” Katya said firmly, holding the magazine out. “She’s twenty-eight. I’m thirty-two.”

Trixie blinked. Her gaze darted between the cover and Katya’s face.

“You really aren’t fuckin’ with me?”

“Promise. On my life. I feel like _you’re_ fucking with _me_.”

“...” She stared at the cover, lips slightly parted. “2019, really?”

“Mm.” Katya straightened her back, looking down at her phone again. Now was the time to get serious about a rental.

But then Trixie did something unexpected.

She held the magazine close to her chest, closing her eyes as she inhaled deeply.

“...Trix?”

“I’m so happy,” she blurted out. “Because...everything seems to work out, in the end. And it worked out on my first try, and it works out with _you_.”

Ah.

Katya stared at her for a moment, her chest tightening. She bit her lip. Bit her tongue. Bit her nerves, bit back spikes of tears. This was cruel. Whoever ordered this prank was incredibly cruel.

“Would you be comfortable coming back to my place while we sort things out?” Katya asked quietly, as if interrupting something.

“Sure. If you’re...if this is real, I have nowhere else to go.” 

“You’re really trusting, Trix,” Katya remarked.

“Oh! Yeah. I mean...even if you are some creepy stranger...” Her eyes popped open again. “I wanna see more of these, and. Y’know.”

“Funny thing is, I actually don’t know.” Katya began to walk towards the front of the terminal, zipping up her bag and gesturing to the blonde.

“Well.” Trixie paused. “I’m about to meet her, uh...2009 Katya, or whatever...and you know her best, right?”

“...Probably.” _If not a version of you just a few years older_.

“Then you can coach in me in what and what not to do! I don’t wanna fuck things up and...not get all of this...” She trailed off, looking to Katya’s bag. “You probably already know why.”

“Know why?” The older woman raised a brow. “Now you’re telling me there’s ulterior motives at play?”

“No, not...I mean, just.” It didn’t seem possible for her cheeks to get any pinker, but they managed. “I hope modern Trixie...is bolder than I am now.”

Katya wheezed. “I don’t know how you could get any bolder.” The blonde pouted. Better to drop it. “I’m really gonna see if any rental spots are open this time, okay?”

They crossed through the doors and Trixie nodded, her suitcase falling to the ground with a thunk. She sat on top of it and rested her chin in her open palms. “Sure. I’ll be here, I guess.”

“Thanks.”

The second Katya turned her back, her chest tightened. And tightened, and tightened still. She stole a glance over her shoulder, and the blonde’s gaze hadn’t left her figure for a second. Stupidly, as she recorded numbers to call, Katya decided to make a promise to herself. And to the lonely teenage girl who risked everything with the intentions to house a photographer, an effective stranger, for the night.

She wasn’t going to tell her any of the bad.

Their lives would be sparkling and so deeply entwined, even if they were entwined more in a kudzu way than anything.

They would be perfect in that Trixie’s head. Even if it killed her.

As the phone began to ring, Katya turned back to face the girl. The tiny shape waved in her direction.

She waved back, a small smile on her face.

_Maybe you really did love me from the start._

**Author's Note:**

> hello !! welcome to a fever dream idea developed in the depths of bedrest and reading a shitton of comics. missed writing. wanted to again. here i am. no promises for consistent uploads, as my life is highkey a mess, but i’m gently glad to be writing again. 
> 
> please let me know if this went alright, if you enjoyed, etc !! I get this concept is a bit much - it’s why I wanted to play with it so much. get realistic, confused reactions, all that fun jazz. I’m thinking a Trixie subplot (where 28 y.o. Trixie is sent back to 23 y.o. Katya) would be fhn if that interests anybody, haha.   
> Much love to you and hope you’re doing well. ❤️ 
> 
> now, if anyone’s followed my other series, i must apologize. i hinted at health problems before and they got a touch worse, as well as school and general life shit. no promises they’ll be picked up again, though they’ve roughly been storyboarded to completion. so it’s a maybe.   
> sorry for a long author’s note !! hope you enjoyed, really. lesbian mom loves u ❤️


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